


Explosive-Tip Arrow

by amoosebouche



Series: What's the Worst That Can Happen [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bar Bathroom Hookup Unexpectedly Leads to Feelings, Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs with Hair-pulling, Bookstores, Castiel Works in a Bookstore, Dean is a customer there, Fluff and Smut, From Sex to Love, Hair-pulling, Humor, Inappropriate Roommate Scarring, Language Kink, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Coital Cuddling, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Workplace Sex, but you can pry this shtick from my cold dead hands, canoodling, fuck it i'm just gonna post this, like almost non-existant, no actual in-story Hawkeye references this time, or at least a relationship, very light on the kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5449358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoosebouche/pseuds/amoosebouche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is back in town, as the baddest bookseller around! Watch as he combats Cruel Coworkers! Will he survive Sappy Seasonal Songs? Could he hopefully Hookup with Huffy Hotty, or has that ship sailed?! All this and more, in this, the second installment of amoosebouche's really weird little series with a thing for Hawkeye! (Still no tracksuits, bro.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was un-beta'd so apologies for any weird continuity errors or other dumb things I didn't catch!
> 
> you don't need to read the first story, but it will provide some context for a few of the things they discuss.

“I’m reasonably certain that if I hear this song one more time, my eyelid twitch will reach monumental proportions,” Cas says as he swings another box of restock up onto a cart. Unfortunately, since he’s griping to Meg, he is also reasonably certain that he isn’t going to get a sympathetic response. 

“So this is the song that brings down the great Castiel Novak?”

“It’s widely recognized as the Worst Christmas Song Ever, followed closely by Ringo’s contribution to the genre. Among other things, it’s boring, lackluster, and extremely trite.” 

She listens, cocking her head. A truly evil grin spreads across her face as she recognizes the song, and then she croons along in an out of tune voice:

_We're simply having a wonderful Christmastime_  
_Simply having a wonderful Christmastime_

Cas glares at her and claps his hands over his ears. Meg laughs delightedly, and goes back out onto the floor. She’s still singing.

 

Letting Meg get wind of a weakness is a costly mistake. She tells Gabe, who tells Charlie and probably every other employee in the store, because Gabe is a bag of dicks. For the rest of the workday, every time they catch sight of him, they break into song. _That_ song. That _horrible_ abomination of a song. 

“Aren’t we all supposed to be on the same side,” he says to Charlie after the most recent ambush.

“All’s fair in love and retail!” she says, and pats him on the arm.

“What does that even mean?” His brow furrows; he stares down at the hand placed on him. She abruptly removes it.

“Your abject misery helps us forget our own misery for a while. You’re our sacrificial Christmas lamb!”

“I’d like to tender my resignation and offer up Meg in my place. She must have a weakness you can exploit.” 

“Sorry, Clarence. I don’t do sacrifice,” Meg retorts as she sails by with a customer in tow. She gets a few yards away before she turns back to them, calling out loudly: “And I don’t have any weaknesses!” 

 

He wants to pick up his case again with Charlie, but he finds she already has the dubious pleasure of dealing with a customer with a ‘problem’. He listens in with one ear while he works. The ‘sign’ the lady is complaining about isn’t even a sign at all, but a page from a children’s book about biting stuck to a support beam behind the resale counter. Benny put it up months ago, and it hasn’t occasioned much comment from customers because most people are perceptive enough to recognize it as a joke.

The increasing volume of the woman’s voice coupled with Charlie’s placating murmurs indicate either that the woman doesn’t understand there is no biting problem, or, that she doesn’t have a sense of humor. An angry, hot flush blooms over him, and he’s not even the one having to deal with her. He tries his best to avoid bursting into nervous laughter—which would only make Charlie’s task more difficult, and he isn’t _that_ upset with her—when a welcome distraction comes in the form of a customer approaching the counter.

Oh.

A very hot customer, and one he should be happy to see. There is certainly a giddy fluttering in his chest at the sight of him. But there’s also an undertone of something he can’t quite pinpoint, and it’s not pleasant.

Dean smiles tightly at him as they make eye contact. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and Cas feels the censure like a punch in the gut. The fluttering constricts into a lump, moving to the base of his esophagus and—yes, that’s the undertone. Anxiety.

Dean’s coldness is not altogether surprising, given that Cas hasn’t contacted Dean in the weeks since their… _rendezvous_ at the bar. He’d thought about it. He’d thought about it very much. But the more time that passed, the easier it became to write the whole experience off as a fever dream, or something that happened to some other person. 

He returns Dean’s strained greeting with a flat smile that probably doesn’t make it beyond a one-sided smirk.

Dean simply stares.

Castiel stares back.

“You got a minute?” Dean says, finally breaking the staring contest.

“I’m not sure that’s a good—”

“Please, Cas.” 

“—idea right now.” He glances over at his supervisor. The irate customer has left, and Charlie’s draped herself over the counter, her face mashed into the countertop. She also appears to be muttering to herself. Cas gestures at Charlie; her current condition is quite illustrative of Dean’s poor timing.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, releases a little pent-up breath. It looks like he has a headache. Well, this probably won’t take long, and they might as well get it over with.

“Wait here, I’ll return in a moment,” Cas says with a follow-up glower.

 

When Cas returns with his jacket, admittedly having dawdled a little bit, Dean is still waiting by the counter, but the mood has shifted drastically. He and Charlie are talking animatedly, both smiling and laughing. Almost in slow motion, Dean reaches over the counter, touching Charlie’s forearm while he guffaws so loudly Cas can hear him from back here. What topic could be that amusing between two people who have just met?

Cas frowns.

Charlie and Dean both look over at his approach, and Dean’s smile settles into something a little dimmer. Charlie looks at him pityingly, with a weak smile. Fantastic. Maybe after work he’ll go home and drink his liquor cabinet. 

“Charlie, I’d like to take my break now.”

She simply nods, and Dean peels himself away from the counter to follow him. He had intended to have this conversation outside, away from the prying eyes and ears of his coworkers, but somewhere along the way he realizes that he’s leading Dean toward the receiving door, which is through the backroom, instead of the front door. 

Dean looks around with interest as Cas ushers him through the backroom, especially when they pass by Charlie’s backstock of Star Wars and Doctor Who collectibles. Cas grabs Dean’s arm and has to practically pull him away. If anyone saw Dean back here—especially Naomi or Zach—they’d both be in a world of trouble. He drops Dean’s arm, hoping that the other man didn’t notice, because it’s not his place to touch him. Not anymore.

 

The alley is cool and dark. There’s a single streetlight over the dumpster across the narrow strip of asphalt. Its illumination barely reaches them. While he can see Dean, it’s difficult to read his expression in the poor lighting.

“It’s quiet back here,” Dean says after a few heartbeats of silence between them.

“Dean—why are you here?” 

Dean shifts his feet, leans back against the building. Cas fidgets, twining his hands together. A few lonely snowflakes drift down. A faint buzzing starts up somewhere nearby.

“Don’t know what I did to put you off, Cas, but I—I really had fun that time. And I’m not talking about—well, I am, heh, but the other stuff, too. Just hanging out, ya know? You’re fun, when you don’t have a stick up your ass.” He seems to realize his choice of phrasing is a bit too on the nose; he coughs, and quickly continues: “So, yeah, anyway. I dunno if it was something I said, or—Look, I don’t, uh, with guys...”

“Is that why you came here?” 

Dimly, Cas is aware that he should be saying something else: correcting the misunderstanding, explaining his own behavior. But his heart is racing and he doesn’t know what to say and the buzzing is getting louder and—oh, no. Now is not the time for this. He presses back against the wall. When that doesn’t help he slides down until his butt hits the ground and drops forward until his head is between his knees. It’s not optimal, but it helps to ground him, a little.

After a few good, deep breaths he’s considerably calmer. He notices for the first time the cold and damp seeping into his pants, and that he’s actually sitting in an alley. He also becomes aware of Dean’s hand on his shoulder. And Dean’s leaning toward him, speaking in a low voice. 

“Cas? Talk to me, man.” 

Dean squats down on his haunches, a little too close. It’s incredibly odd how he’s only been close enough to smell Dean one other time, and yet the scent is familiar. It calls to him, draws him in a way that scares him. His gut twists.

“I still don’t understand your purpose in coming here, tonight. We weren’t in contact. Why come, just to tell me that you aren’t interested in men. In me. It seems needlessly cruel.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Cas? You even listen to a word I said? I’m trying to figure out—to apologize if I did something wrong. I never said I don’t like guys. It should be pretty fucking clear that I do, you weirdo. I was trying to say that I’ve never been _into_ guys, like—dating. Or whatever.” 

Dean stops, takes a ragged breath, and Cas gets the sense that he’s trying to say something else, so he waits, and Dean says: “Before now.”

“Oh. Well, I feel stupid.”

The fluttery feeling is back.

“Think you were jumping the gun on the rejection, there, buddy.”

They watch the snow drift down for a few moments, sitting next to each other.

“Dean.” Cas sucks his bottom lip. He needs to get this right. “I never contacted you, not because I had regrets or misgivings, but because it, it seemed like an experience that belonged to another person in another time and place. ‘It wasn’t real’, ‘it wasn’t me’…  or something like that. You may have noticed I don’t have much in the way of people skills. If I lost three fingers in an accident, I could still count the number of romantic relationships I’ve been in on that same hand.”

Dean laughs, and Cas breathes a little bit easier, able to continue.

“Hookups aren’t quite my thing. And certainly not in public places, Dean. Everything with you has been a fairly new experience for me.” Cas smiles to himself. “Not the men part, though.”

“I guess we both messed this up pretty bad, huh?” Dean says. He shifts a little against the wall. Their shoulders are touching the barest amount; Cas wants to lean in closer.

“I don’t know about that. If it were truly messed up, would we be speaking right now?”

“‘Spose not.” There’s some more shuffling and groping next to him. “Cas, where’s your dumb hand?”

“Oh.” Cas removes his hand from his pocket and holds it out for Dean to take. Dean’s hand is comfortably cool against Cas’s warm one, and he traces a pattern on Cas’s palm with his thumb, moves up to his wrist under his sleeve. The light touch sends a spark through Cas.

“Mmm.” Cas jumps up almost as soon as the moan escapes his mouth. “As nice as this is, I don’t want to be turned on at work, so I think I’m going to head back in.”

He doesn’t actually go inside. Seeing that Cas is lingering, Dean stands, crowding him against the side of the building.

“How about a quick kiss?” Dean says, already leaning in.

“I’m not sure I’m capable of a ‘quick’ kiss with you.” 

“That so?” Dean mouths along his jaw, his breath hot against Cas’s skin. Moving upward, he takes Cas’s earlobe in his teeth, tugging gently. He moves down to Cas’s neck, nipping at the skin there. This is maddening, he shouldn’t—

“Dean, I only have a few minutes before my break is ov— _ah!_ —”

Cas snatches Dean’s hand away from its path down his pants. “That was _not_ a kiss!”

Dean laughs softly against his mouth, and Cas presses in further. Dean’s lips are just as soft as he remembers. They wind together, Cas firmly keeping Dean’s arms above his waist. Dean does that humming thing against his lips, and it’s just as delicious as last time. Desire lances through him at the memory. Energy fairly crackles between them and his blood is on fire. This is everything he was hoping for but never in a million years thought— Cas pulls back to look at Dean, brings a hand up to Dean’s face. Dean leans into it, being cradled by Cas’s touch. Dean’s here, with him. This is real. 

“What time you get off work?” Dean’s voice is husky and low, and it makes heat pool in Cas, simmering beneath the surface. Dean’s hand slips back under Cas’s waistband, trailing along his sensitive skin, teasing.

“Seven. _Ah!_ So, an hour?”

“Hmm. And how much time you got now?”

“Uh, three minutes? Possibly four?” 

“How ‘bout a different kind of kiss?” Dean murmurs quietly, nuzzling Cas’s cheek, and Cas is so dazed with lust he doesn’t quite fully catch Dean’s meaning. Until Dean’s somehow gotten his jeans unfastened and the cold night air is rushing in, and then Dean’s hand is holding him but Dean’s not kissing him anym— _oh_.

Cool air is welcome on his heated face. Cas threads his fingers through Dean’s hair as a hot mouth envelopes him. Dean is so very very hot and wet and he feels like heaven to Cas’s fevered ardor. How can lips and cheeks and a tongue do that? He’s spiraling upward and outward and there are stars behind his eyelids—or is he watching snow falling?—and he tugs Dean’s hair, looking down, telling him—telling him what?—but Dean just looks back, meeting his gaze, unblinking, a snowflake stuck to one of his stupid eyelashes and he takes Cas’s cock further in his mouth.

Cas shudders.

Dean moans around him.

“Jesus,” Cas whispers.

“Na, a’m Deam,” Dean says with a mouthful of dick, and Cas laughs, breathless.

But then Dean grabs Cas’s ass, pulls Cas to him, and—

“Dean, I—” is all he gets out before he comes, hips jerking wildly, spilling into Dean’s mouth.

After a few moments, his heart rate slows. Cas opens his eyes and looks down to see Dean nosing along his spent cock before he tucks him back in his pants. His body does a sad, residual twitch and Dean chuckles. Cas carefully eases the tension from his hands, releasing his grip on Dean’s hair, and Dean stands up with a groan. A knee pops.

“Did I pull too hard? I’m sorry. You sound like an old man.”

“No, it’s fine, I, uh—I like that kinda thing, Cas,” Dean says. He bats Cas’s hand away from his own erection. “You gotta get back to work, buddy. We’ll—can we meet up after your shift? Is that okay?”

Dean looks at him, sounding uncertain but very earnest.

This isn’t the seductive and forward man from a few minutes ago; neither is he the cocky and arrogant man from their first run-ins. _This_ Dean sounds unsure and bashful, and this must be the same Dean that he glimpsed in the restroom of that bar, after their last… encounter. Seductive Dean makes him go all tingly and weak-kneed. Arrogant Dean provokes the smartass in him. Bashful, insecure Dean—what does _he_ bring out in Cas? 

As he looks at Dean, struggles with the urge to reassure and comfort him, to keep him close, he realizes that he knows where this whole thing is heading. Or he’s starting to know, but he doesn’t quite want to admit to it just now. Or perhaps it’s that he’s not quite _there_ yet, but he will be, and it won’t take long. And he thinks he’d like to be there, but is that something he can say?

“Cas?” Dean’s voice is quiet and low.

“Yes! Yes, of course, Dean. I’d like that very much.” He takes a deep breath, reddening pre-emptively. “I still can’t quite believe this is real. You’re so—wonderful. And I don’t just mean the sex.”

Dean squeezes his hand, but doesn’t reply.

The receiving door bangs open. Meg soon appears, wheeling out trash and recycling. Pressed up against the side of the building as they are, they go unnoticed. Cas shoos Dean toward the door, and they duck in before it shuts.

 

“I have about fifty minutes left, do you…” Cas trails off as they sneak out of the backroom, not sure what he’s asking.

“I can wait around.”

“There are reading chairs up by the fireplace. I’ll come find you?”

Dean nods, and they separate.

 

Charlie is still up at the resale counter when Cas returns. She’s not known for being overly strict, but he’s not in the least surprised when she glances at the clock as he approaches.

“Four minutes over, Novak.” She clicks her tongue.

Cas makes a weird, strangled half laugh and immediately curses himself for not being able to play it straight.

Charlie narrows her eyes; her lips purse. He can see the gears turning in her odiously clever head.  If he wasn’t in such a fragile state, he’d have realized more quickly that she wasn’t seriously upset at him.

“Where’s your friend?” she says, in an almost sing-song voice.

“Dean is waiting up by the fireplace. We’re going to—hang out? When my shift is over.”

“Uh-huh.” She peers at him. He doesn’t think her eyes could narrow even further, but she manages to surprise him by accomplishing just that. She leans over into his space, stands on her tip-toes. “What. Is. _That_?”

Suddenly, she turns bright red and rocks back on her heels.

Oh, no.

His face heats up. He must have a hickey or maybe even a bite mark. How do you come up with the right words to tell your manager that you snuck out the back to talk to a guy you hooked up with once—after weeks of unpleasant interactions between the two of you—only then you started making out, and _then_ he gave you a life-altering blow job? No, there aren’t really adequate words for that.

So he simply ducks his head, clears his throat, and goes back to work.

Charlie, thankfully, seems to forget all about the psychological torture campaign from earlier in the day, if there’s one blessing to be had from this situation.

 

A few minutes past seven o’clock finds Cas staring down at Dean, asleep in the chair closest to the fireplace. There’s an open copy of _Good Omens_ in his lap. 

Dean’s lashes fan out over his cheeks. He had a tan and freckles the first few times they’d met, but now, in early winter, his skin is paler, more even-complexioned. He’s still gorgeous, of course. Cas smiles, remembering the weeks where he only knew Dean as Hot Guy. He’s wearing his hair a little longer, and it’s parted at the side rather than spiked up like it was in the fall. Cas like this look. It’s less… cocky. Dean must have rearranged his hair after coming inside, but a few strands are still mussed. Cas carefully brushes them back into place, before realizing that must appear inappropriate to bystanders. 

Inappropriate? His dick was in this man’s mouth only an hour ago.

He gently shakes Dean’s shoulder.

Dean blinks awake. He yawns. He takes in Cas standing over him, and the most amazing smile breaks out over his face.

“Heya, Cas. Ready to go?”

Good lord.

 Cas knows he’s in trouble. He barely even knows the guy. In most of the interactions they’ve had, one of them was upset with the other one.

They did have a good conversation tonight, despite getting sidetracked because it seems like maybe they both have a tendency to use sex as a distraction. So there’s certainly a lot more to be said between them. He’ll just have to make sure they get around to saying it. And it bears repeating that Dean is clearly a very complex man. But so far, he likes that about him.

Cas reaches down, pulls Dean to his feet. The book slides to the floor; Dean bends down to pick it up with a wry smile.

“Don’t want to leave my books all over the place.”

Cas can’t help snorting, but he nods before replying: “Yes, I’m ready to go. Would you like to come over to my place? Maybe we should stop somewhere for dinner?”

Dean agrees. 

As they leave, Cas doesn’t even notice that the song that tormented him throughout the day is playing overhead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I polled some of my coworkers. 8 out of 9 responded with Wonderful Christmastime as the Worst Christmas Song Ever. One coworker replied that he liked it, but that was after he heard several people vehemently disparage it. He’s kind of a Gabe. Take that as you will.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and his Hottie Hookup finally get a chance to be alone together, but will they take this chance to further their relationship, or just bang like bunnies? Will Cas’s roommate put a damper on the budding bromance?? Bro, seriously, bro! This one has it all! Characters! Dialogue! Plot? Just the teeniest bit, if you squint! Meaning? Not a jot! Smut and a little bit of fluff and some more smut? BOY HOWDY!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I hadn't _planned_ on adding a new chapter to this, but fluffy nonsense smut is pretty much the standard cure for 'why am I writing a horror fic, again?' angst, so here we are.
> 
> It's been awhile since I've had my head in this 'verse and I'm not even sure I can get back in the same mindset, so this is probably gonna be pretty different from the previous chapter and the previous story in the series. (Hopefully, it's also way fucking better.)
> 
> Unbeta'd, other than my obsessively reading and re-reading the damn thing until I'm sick of it. Hopefully I caught all the errors.

It takes Cas a couple of tries to get his keys in the door; whether from nerves or excitement or just a door that’s hard to unlock, Dean can’t tell. With a soft click, the door swings open and Cas shuffles inside, groping for the light switch. Dean follows and looks around with interest. It was obvious from the outside that Cas’s building is old, and the interior does little to dispel that notion. Dean immediately decides he likes it anyway. The door opens directly into a little entryway that has built-ins and a hardwood floor. The bathroom is opposite the entrance, and he can see a pedestal sink and black and white floor tiles.

Cas drops his keys on a tray on one of the built-in shelves and starts to peel off his jacket while toeing off his shoes. He doesn’t turn around or acknowledge Dean, and Dean’s hands tighten by his sides as a moment of unease washes over him: he doesn’t _do_ this, this isn’t _him_. But he exhales softly, forces himself to relax. He meant what he said earlier that night: while he never had interest in dating guys before, Cas is different, so he’d better start acting like it. If he wasn’t about to freak out any second now, he’d laugh his ass off at how fucking terrible he is with dudes compared to girls.

It’s hard to read Cas as it is, and he can’t tell if the guy is anxious, embarrassed about his place, if he regrets bringing Dean back here, or what. The thought that he’s not wanted here churns in his head for a few good seconds as he takes off his own coat and nearly trips over his feet trying to get his shoes off. Cas finally looks around at the commotion, and, well, at least he’s smiling. If nothing else, Dean’s good at making a fool of himself.

“Here, let me take that,” Cas says as he reaches for the doggy bag that Dean tries and fails to juggle around removing a coat sleeve. “I know it’s not much, but, welcome to my home.” Cas goes into a room to the right—the kitchen, Dean realizes when the fridge light comes on. The glow briefly illuminates Cas as he tosses in the box; it’s easy enough to see that he’s glaring at whatever he finds in the fridge. Or he’s wishing he hadn’t brought Dean back here. Before Dean can decide whether or not he should start worrying about that, Cas slips back into the entryway, socks sliding along the floor.

“By the way, it’s in your best interest to avoid the fridge. My roommate is a disgusting slob who never throws anything out in a timely fashion. I can’t tell which is more harmful to my health: the various mold spores he’s culturing in there, or Book Lung.”

Ah, roommate trouble. Dean lets loose a little pent-up breath that he hopes gets mistaken for a laugh instead of the sigh of relief it really is.

“Book lung?”

Cas tilts his head and his lip quirks up in that slightly one-sided smile that’s not in the least endearing. 

“Workplace hazard. Bookstores can be quite dusty.”

“Oh? That why your voice is so sexy?” Dean’s face flares red as soon as the words pop out, but considering Cas is blushing, too, he doesn’t regret the cheesy line. Instead of replying, Cas just clears his throat and stares at his toes. No, no regrets here. Dean decides it’s his life’s mission to make Cas blush as much as humanly possible, and he has an idea for Stage One. Spoiler alert: it involves canoodling on the couch.

“So what’s the plan? Got any good movies?”

“Would you like to listen to some music and just talk? I want to—I’d really like to get to know you better. Please.”

“Um… yeah, sure, I guess we can do that. Whaddaya got?” He might be the teeniest bit disappointed and maybe a little nervous, because ‘talking’ is usually what precedes someone breaking up with him. Still, he follows Cas into the living room. It’s small, and oddly shaped thanks to the bowed outer wall on the street side of the building.  A lumpy couch of an indeterminate color backs up against another wall, and across from it is a moderately sized TV and a jumbled mess of game consoles. Next to the couch is an end table with a record player. 

“Nice, you like vinyl?” And, wow, could he be any more of a douchebag?

“The turntable belongs to my roommate, and most of the records are his as well. I only have a few so far. My co-workers bullied me into it, since my knowledge of popular music is sadly lacking. Charlie made the point that part of the job requires being knowledgeable about _all_ the things we sell, and we sell CDs and records, so…” Cas trails off with a little shrug. 

Dean doesn’t reply, but drops down on his haunches to flip through the crate on the floor next to the table. It’s a very weird mix of music, that’s for sure. Among the ones he’s more familiar with are Lou Reed, Prince, David Bowie, and Queen, but there’s a ton of 80s new wave and pop, some classic jazz, and a smattering of modern stuff like Lady Gaga. He’s just not in the mood for anything he’s seen so far. At the back of the crate is a small amount of classical music, a genre he isn’t terribly familiar with outside of a few years in middle school band. Not a bad selection, Dean supposes, but nothing here is his first choice. Not for something as ominous as _talking_. He needs comfort and familiarity for that.

“Got any Led Zeppelin?”

Cas shakes his head. “My roommate dislikes classic rock, hard rock, metal…”

“Yeah, well, your roommate sucks.”

Cas laughs and rolls his eyes. “Yes, sometimes he does. I hardly think his musical preferences make him worthy of damnation, however. I’m more concerned with the health hazards and candy wrappers he leaves behind.”

“Fair point. So, uh, why don’t you pick something out? Or, well, we don’t have to—we can just talk, or whatever.” Dean plops down on the couch and watches Cas flip through the crate at a rapid pace. He pulls out a Bowie record and gets it set up. Maybe he saw Dean pause at it, or maybe he just likes it. Either way, it’s a decent choice. 

“This is the first album I bought for myself,” Cas says as Space Oddity starts playing. He sits down next to Dean, not near enough to touch, but near enough for Dean to feel his presence and wish they were either closer together or farther apart. Dean shifts, turns toward Cas and tucks one leg up on the couch. His knee is close to Cas’s thigh, but not close enough. Or, again, too close.

“The Classical is yours as well?” Dean guesses.

Cas seems pleased at that. He smiles, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. He’s facing Dean, an arm slung along the back of the couch but with his feet planted on the floor like a civilized person. Dean’s eyes are drawn to Cas’s lap, where his rather snug-fitting jeans emphasize what Dean already knows to be a fantastic package. He tells himself it’d be weird to just put his feet up on Cas’s lap like he wants to, and even weirder to wiggle his toes near Cas’s junk if he did, but his feet twitch anyway. Suddenly feeling overheated and self-conscious, Dean pulls off his henley, leaving him in just his old, ratty Motörhead t-shirt.

“—really underappreciated,” Cas says. Dean blinks and nods. Cas wants to talk, so he should probably try to listen and stop mentally undressing him. “And, of course, as probably the most well-known Russian composer, Tchaikovsky’s work is wonderful. He’s one of my favorites. He’s so, so… expressive, and has unparalleled depth and vision. He made great strides in bridging the gap between Russian and Western music. It might be cliché, but 1812 Overture gives me chills every time.”

Struggling to catch up, Dean blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “So, you, uh, really like Russian music, huh?”

“Yes. It’s in my blood, I suppose.”

Dean perks up. “Oh, so you’re Russian, then?” Cas nods, and Dean barrels ahead. “How Russian _are_ you? I mean, do—do you speak any?”

Cas rattles off a few words that are completely incomprehensible yet still manage to make him tingle in all the right places. 

“Mmm, I’m not entirely convinced.”

Cas smiles and speaks again, the words curling and tangling around Dean’s spine only to travel downward and pool in his groin. He squirms, and hopes Cas has no idea what this is doing to him. Then hopes that Cas _does_ know. Then he tells himself to shut up already.

He clears his throat. “So what’d you say?”

“It’s just part of a prayer we all had to learn when we were kids. I don’t actually know how to speak Russian.”

“Coulda fooled me. Maybe you should learn it for real though.”

Cas stares at him for a few beats, and then his eyes narrow as he continues to regard Dean with intense scrutiny.

“...What?”

“You seem to have a vested interest in my ability to speak a foreign language.”

“What? Nah, I mean, it’s a marketable skill, right? Being bilingual? Wh—what are you doing, Cas? I thought you wanted to—” Dean’s breath hitches “—taa- _aaalk!”_ He practically yelps as Cas, who had crawled over him, starts mouthing along Dean’s neck.

“It’s not as if we’ll never have the chance to talk again,” Cas says, very reasonably, as his hand creeps up Dean’s t-shirt. The man does have a point. “Besides, you were very… _accommodating_ to me earlier. And now we have more time.”

Dean slides down the couch so he’s almost laid out flat under Cas. Which, if you think about it, is kind of a feat since the couch is lumpy and rough and not really made for any kind of sliding. His shirt is bunched up under his back, but Cas is pushing it up from the front, anyway, and then he’s kissing along the soft skin that he’s exposed. Dean gasps quietly as Cas fumbles around with his fly, pulls out his cock, and swallows him down without any preamble. Dean moans, embarrassingly loudly, surprisingly caught off-guard, though really, all signs were pretty much pointing right to this. His fingers flex along the scratchy fabric of the couch. Cas must notice, because he pulls off long enough to place his hand over Dean’s, eyes trained on their joined hands.

“You said you liked your hair being pulled,” Cas says.

It takes a few seconds, but Dean’s upstairs brain catches up to the conversation. “Yeah, man. I mean, up to a certain point…” he trails off, uncertain where Cas is going with this, but then Cas pulls Dean’s hand up to his head.

“I don’t know if I’ll like it, but I’d like to try it, Dean,” Cas says, and then slides his hot, wet _—jesus!—_ mouth over Dean’s cock again. 

Dean tries not to buck his hips. “Sure, sure, okay, just let me know if it’s too much.” 

He’s wanted his hands in Cas’s gorgeous, disordered hair since he first laid eyes on him, so this is like icing on the cake of awesomeness that’s happening right now. He runs his fingers through the mop. Cas’s hair is longer than his, fluffy and a little bit wavy and a lot soft and just perfect in his hands. He grasps a few strands and gives an easy tug. Maybe he could stand to let his own hair get a little longer if they’re going to keep doing stuff like this. 

He meets Cas’s eyes, and his pupils’re definitely more dilated now. Dean tugs again, and yep, Cas’s eyes widen even more and a soft, barely discernable flush fills his cheeks. Dean sweeps a strand of hair away from Cas’s forehead and then, before he knows it, his thumb is brushing along his cheekbone and wow, okay, this is getting oddly sweet. He’s never been this… this _mushy_ when someone’s sucking him off. His hand jerks away and he dives back into Cas’s hair, just as Cas starts humming and moaning around him. Fuck, if the guy keeps this up, he’s not going to last much longer, and he really doesn’t want to come like this, not this soon, not when there’s so much more they could do.

The insistent tugs in his hair finally register with Cas, who slowly backs off of him. Dean nearly dies from the look on his face, but steels himself. For the first time he notices that the record’s stopped, and the room quiet with the exception of their harsh breathing.

“Your room?”

Cas crawls back up over Dean and leans down to nibble at his lips while his hand sneaks back down to stroke him softly. Dean hums in pleasure.

“Hmm, and I thought you were the adventurous one,” Cas murmurs. His voice is low and raspy and just sounds wrecked. 

“Roommate?” Dean gasps out at a particularly well-timed tug from Cas.

“What about him?” Cas asks, and gives Dean a few more gentle pulls, his hand sliding over Dean’s slick skin. But just then a series of progressively loud thumps come from outside the apartment, culminating with the door being thrown open. 

“Hey-o!” The man that bursts into the apartment stops dead on the threshold, one hand still on the door as he takes in the scene in the living room with wide eyes.

Cas grimaces, and Dean’s pretty sure he’s never been so red in his life as he fumbles to put himself away. Fortunately, _fucking_ fortunately, it looks like Cas is blocking Dean’s important bits from the doorway. If he’s extra lucky, it’ll just look like they were making out or something.

The man finally unfreezes, and covers his eyes. “Cassie!”

Yeah, not that lucky.

“Gabe, I thought you were going out after work tonight!” Cas says. He makes a face at Dean, and starts to sit up, so Dean does the same, pulling his shirt down hopefully far enough to hide his raging hard-on. He leaves his hand partially covering his lap, but Gabe—the roommate,  he supposes—isn’t looking at him, instead staring at Cas with unfettered glee.

“I was! And still am. I just came home to change and to try and convince you to come out with me, but—” he pauses and waggles his eyebrows “—apparently you don’t need any company tonight.”

“No, I think I’m happy to stay in tonight.” Cas laughs a little hysterically.

“Well, don’t let me stop you kids. Just don’t, uh— please don’t get any fluids on the couch. I have to sit there, too.”

“You’ve done far worse things on this couch,” Cas says, a half-growl in a low voice, and Dean’s cock twitches valiantly against the confines of his jeans. Not at the idea of the roommate doing things on the couch, of course, because _ew_ , but at the timbre and tone of Cas’s voice. It reminds him of their near-fight in the bathroom of the bar and, well, that? That was a good time.

Gabe laughs and disappears into the room next to the bathroom. Cas sighs.

Dean pokes Cas in the arm. “Bedroom _now_?”

 

Cas’s bed is wide and soft compared to Dean’s. He flops down on it ever so gracefully, legs hanging off the end of the bed at his knees. He closes his eyes and sighs. At the absence of another body falling next to him, though, his eyes pop back open. Cas is standing a few feet away, watching him with an inscrutable expression.

“”Sup, Cas?” Dean levers himself up to a half-sitting position. He doesn’t want Cas to have changed his mind, but the guy looks pensive, and he can’t tell if it was the roommate, or maybe… something he did. Wouldn’t it just be typical for him to have fucked this up already? But then Cas smiles.

“I was going to be good this time,” Cas says. He slowly walks forward, until he’s bracketed by Dean’s spread legs. His hands trail along Dean’s thighs, and Dean tries to suppress a little shiver. He fails, and Cas’s grin turns just a little bit naughty. 

“But… you’re so easy to rile up.” One hand moves closer to Dean’s groin, and his eyes flutter shut as his dick immediately goes from not-sure-what’s-happening right back to completely-on-board. “And extremely hard to resist.”

“Mmhmm, it’s true. Irresistible Dean Winchester, at your service.”

Interest flashes in Cas’s eyes, followed by naked want.

“Really? I’m learning so much about you, Dean. Your language fetish, and now this?”

“It’s not a _fetish_.”

Cas chuckles and rattles off a few words in Russian. They could be the same words he said before. They could be the absolutely most mundane words in existence. It doesn’t matter, Dean squirms, and a little moan escapes him.

“Okay, maybe it’s a little bit of a fetish, but don’t you dare stop.”

Cas _hmms_ softly, and quickly undoes Dean’s pants. His now extremely hard cock pops free from its unjust confinement. “But, Dean, it’s very difficult to speak around such a large, beautiful cock like this one.”

Cas’s hand closes around him tightly, and he strokes it a few times. Dean’s pretty sure his brain just shorted out; he hooks his fingers in the waistband of his jeans and tries to pull them down, but can’t make it work. Cas chuckles, and stands upright, tugging at the offending clothing until the jeans and his boxer briefs are pooled around Dean’s ankles. 

“You have to choose, Dean. Do you want Russian, or do you want your dick sucked?” Cas ducks down and licks him, tongue rasping from the base up to the tip where he laps up a bead of precome.

“Yes, jesus! I mean, uh, please, Cas, that one, the second thing—” Dean breaks off and shimmies backward, kicking his pants the rest of the way off as he goes. Cas crawls onto the bed between Dean’s legs, his face flushed and eyes sparkling. He gasps and collapses onto his back when Cas’s mouth closes around him. Dean forces himself to lie still, to let him do his thing since Cas seems to know what he’s doing. Cas’s mouth feels like heaven, and his tongue swirls around Dean’s cock as he hollows his cheeks and sucks. He does that for a little while, then switches over to a gentle bobbing for a few beats. Suddenly, Cas pulls off and traces his tongue around the head, then slowly pushes his mouth back around the head to suckle at it before grabbing the base with one hand to jack him while he slides Dean’s cock further into his mouth. It feels so fucking amazing, and Dean wants to thrust, to fuck into Cas’s face but he doesn’t want to hurt him, so he lies there and makes embarrassing noises as he receives what’s probably the best blow job he’s ever had.

Cas makes a startled noise and Dean realizes he’s got his hand back in Cas’s hair. It must’ve been too much. He loosens his grip and is about to drop his hand back to the bedspread, but Cas hums and shakes his head—which feels really weird and really good when he’s got his mouth on Dean’s cock—so Dean grabs the soft strands again, although he tries really, _really_ hard not to pull quite as hard.  He fails at that, spectacularly, when Cas’s _other_ hand, wet with his saliva, trails down his sac, briefly caresses his perineum, and then teases at his rim.

This? This is completely new, and he’s so completely floored by how unexpectedly _awesome_ it feels that he jerks and flails and accidently does end up fucking Cas’s face for a few seconds. He’s close, he’s _so_ fucking close, and then Cas’s finger pops inside him, and well, that’s it, he can’t hold out any longer, and he should warn Cas, but all he can manage is a punched-out groan and then he’s coming, and Cas isn’t taken by surprise at all, that fucker, he just hums and swallows Dean’s release, and fuck if that isn’t hot as hell.

As Dean comes down from that explosive high, he relaxes his hands from the death-grip he’s got on Cas’s hair. That hair’s gonna be the death of him, he realizes.

“Jesus, Cas, where’d you learn to suck cock like that?” One of his hands drops to the bed, but the other slips down slowly, trails down the side of Cas’s face like before, coming to rest on his cheek, where Dean’s cock is still nestled in Cas’s mouth, softening. Dean suddenly realizes he’s smiling like a dope, but can’t seem to stop. Not that he wants to. Cas pulls off, and he’s smiling, too, a bit triumphantly like he just did a triathlon or something. He’s flushed and a bit wild-eyed, and Dean wants to take care of him but he just can’t seem to _move_ at all. 

As Dean’s thinking about how to get the energy, though, Cas sits back and quickly unfastens his jeans. He doesn’t even bother to shove them down, he just pulls his cock out and starts stroking himself wildly as he straddles Dean’s hips.

“Dean—is this, is this okay, can I—?” Cas stutters between moans. A thrill slices through Dean as he realizes what Cas is asking, and if he weren’t so spent, he’d probably start to get hard again. Instead, he nods and yanks his shirt up, baring his stomach and chest. He grabs Cas’s thighs tight, holds him still as Cas jerks himself faster and faster.

“Dean, I’m so close, you’re so fucking hot, so gorgeous, I can’t—” Cas bites his lip, then cries out and comes all over Dean, long ropes of ejaculate landing on his stomach. Dean’s hands tighten on Cas’s legs as his hips jerk, straining to push out those last few drops of come before he loses his strength and collapses next to Dean.

“Oh my God,” Cas says, his voice breathy and rough. He rolls to his side and kisses Dean on the cheek, then runs a hand through his own hair, causing it to stick up funny. Dean thinks he’s still smiling dopily, because it’s the same smile he sees mirrored in Cas’s face.

“I wanted to make that last longer,” Cas says once he’s caught his breath.

Dean laughs. “Yeah, me too.”

“Maybe later?”

“Maybe later.”

Cas groans and rolls over, but misjudges where the edge of the bed is and falls flat on the floor.

“Uh… you okay, there, buddy?”

“Ow,” is all the reply he gets. After a moment, there’s some shuffling, and a handful of tissues appears. Dean takes them and wipes himself off, then reaches off the end of the bed and fishes his boxer briefs out of his pants.

“Need a hand, Cas?”

Cas’s head pops up, and then the rest of him slowly appears as he heaves himself up off the floor. He shucks off his jeans and drops them on the floor. They’re soon followed by his cardigan. “I guess I don’t normally lie that close to the edge.”

“Y’know what? You’re cute when you blush.”

Cas turns even redder. “How about we forget about that and take a nap instead? Do you have anywhere you have to be, or can you stay awhile?” Cas makes to pull back the covers, and Dean shuffles around so that he can.

“Yeah, I’m free for the rest of the night.” Dean grins and pulls Cas back down next to him. He scoots over, though—funny as it was, he thinks they should try to avoid similar mishaps—and wraps his arm around Cas, tucking him against his side. Cas pulls the covers over them and snuggles in close.

“This is nice,” Cas says, already sounding drowsy.

“It is,” Dean agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I mentioned in the comments to the previous chapter, I'm probably going to update this series sporadically, either when I need some stress relief from the dark angsty shit I'm currently working on, or whenever something incredibly weird, horrible, or funny happens at work and I need to bitch about it in fic form.
> 
> If you want to be notified about updates, I'd suggest subscribing to the series or to me as an author, because I'm not sure whether or not I'll add another chapter to this particular timestamp.
> 
> Like what you read? Hated it? Have suggestions for improvement? Want to give me crap about my shitty summaries? Please consider leaving a comment! It's pretty likely that I'll respond sooner or later, and I'd love to hear what I'm doing right, or what I need to work on. (If I don't reply, I'm not dead--probably--I may just be mired in ye olde gloomy horror fic writing brain.) 
> 
> You can also drop me a line at my [tumblr](http://veryamooseing.tumblr.com) :3


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